


In the Aftermath of Chaos

by mewme



Series: In the Aftermath of Chaos [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mewme/pseuds/mewme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tensions rise as Phryne surprises Jack with another gift. Will they move past this argument?</p><p>Originally part of A Vignette of Phryne and her Jack, after working on the next part, I realized this would be better separate from the vignette as it is going in a completely different direction. I apologize for any confusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Argument

He could smell her as soon as he opened his front door. It was late, well after midnight, and Jack was exhausted. He breathed in her perfume like a lifeline and closed his eyes, his body relaxing for the first time in 15 hours. He wanted a whiskey, a bath, and the warmth of his woman—his Phryne—his. It still amazed him that even after these many months Phryne still wanted him. For Jack, there would be no other woman—only her. After Rosie, Jack turned inward, shutting the world out until it turned into a bland, cold existence. He continued to breathe, to wake up, work, eat (when he remembered), sleep but living was no longer involved. He ignored the couples he saw, the twinges of pain he felt when he saw a man and woman walking arm and arm, heads bent to each other, until the weight inside his heart turned everything he felt about life in to a dull throb of complacency. Even cycling became routine and the only thing that gave him the semblance of hope.

With Rosie, even during the thrill of reconciliation after the war, he gave up on the feeling of soft skin underneath his palms, of the warmth of a woman's flesh, the heat between her legs. He grew cold. Then he met the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher. She drove him mad at first, her blasted interfering with his cases, meddling, nosy, showing up at crime scenes with her flirting and her finery. He could not remember the moment he began to look forward to her feathers, her heels, the rumble of the Hispano Suiza, the scent of her French perfume. It enveloped him, lingering long after she left the room.

Once Phryne, not that he called her Phryne then, once Miss Fisher dropped a glove in his office during a case. He kept it in his drawer, under some paperwork and took it out periodically to smell. He knew he should give it back but when he looked at it after a long day, he felt the twinges of happiness, of hope, of warmth in his fingertips, painful at first then welcoming. He imaged the hand that wore it sliding narrow fingers down his chest, back, ass, reaching around to cup his... Jack shook his head at the thought, returning to the present. That was no longer a fantasy—she was here, waiting for him warm and probably naked in his bed. He grew hard imaging those long slim limbs tangling with his on silk sheets. _She has bewitched me, body and soul.*_

Jack locked his front door and walked straight to the bedroom. She was there as he imagined, white skin against the black of her robe, glowing in the moonlight. The robe was her favorite, black with colorful birds decorating the sleeves and back of it. She looked like a flame in the darkness. At the foot of the bed lay a large box topped with a bow and her clothes lay crumpled on a chair in the corner of the room. Jack stood a moment and stared, transfixed by her beauty. He cleared his voice and began to speak.

 _She walks in beauty, like the night_  
_Of cloudless climes and starry skies;_  
_And all that’s best of dark and bright_  
_Meet in her aspect and her eyes;_  
_Thus mellowed to that tender light_  
_Which heaven to gaudy day denies.**_

"Oh, Jack," Phryne purred, one hand trailing between her breasts, "You know I love it when you recite poetry to me." She sat up, swinging her legs to the side of the bed, giving Jack a quick flash of bare flesh. She filled a tumbler from a whiskey bottle she had obviously brought with her as it was more than he could afford and sat the bottle back down on the bedside table. Handing the glass to him she stated "I know you have had a long day. Doctor's orders." He took the glass wordlessly, tossing the contents down in one gulp. She refilled the glass and he took a sip this time, savoring the warmth of good whisky. Stepping to her to stand between her legs, he drew her head to his chest, wrapping his arms around her, bending his head to kiss her hair, the scent of her untying the knots in his stomach.

"What is in the box?" He inquired after a moment, pulling away and pointing with his glass. He moved to the chair, placing god knows what it was called (fashion was not his strong suite), her clothes he guessed to the back of the chair so he could sit. Setting his glass on the floor, Jack placed his coat on her clothes and sat to untie his laces and begin to undress.

"Well, Jack. Why don't you open it and see?" Phryne winked, playing the tie of her robe.

"I believe, Miss Fisher, that is one gift I will never grow tired of."

"Oh, I hope not." She replied. "Though this is a gift that is a bit more practical and public."

Jack stood, unbuttoning waistcoat and shirt as he walked to the end of the bed. "Matching robes?" he inquired. "I'm afraid the one you left here is a bit snug for me, though the color looks and feels fantastic against my skin."

"Not a robe." Phryne laughed. "Though the blue does bring out the color of your eyes. I may have to consider buying you a robe in your size. Open it." She demanded.

"You don't have to buy me anything." He said in a low voice, tension tightening his neck slightly. She was always buying him things, and though he told her it was not needed, she continued to do so.

"Open it."

Jack stood at the end of the bed as Phryne sat on the side, pushing the box to him. Jack took the end of the ribbon and pulled, his eyes watching hers, a slight smile on his lips. Phryne flushed, her hand moving to her neck as they watched each other. He lifted the lid and looked down to see layers of tissue paper obscuring the item beneath it. He looked at her again, fingers sliding the paper apart. She swallowed, imagining those longer fingers slipping beneath the folds of her robe to pull the fabric apart, those fingers gently parting her legs, parting her lips to find her center. He winked again and smiled. Later it said and she knew he meant it.

"What is this?" He asked, grabbing a layer of dark fabric and lifting it.

"Men, so hopeless." She replied and stood to help him. "I thought with the gala next week..." She stopped talking when he gave no reply. He stared at the clothing now in her hands, his face flushing. "A new suit, well, a tuxedo to be precise, Jack. I thought you may want a new one." Jack turned away, walking to the dresser to drop his cuff links in a tray, a tray she bought him. He picked them up and placed them in the top drawer instead.

"I have a tuxedo." He replied, angrily taking off his shirt as he spoke, eyes meeting hers in the mirror. He closed his eyes at the sound of the harshness in his voice. _Why was he angry?_ He was just so tired.

"I know you do, and it is a wonderful one, but I though a new one would be nice. I had it designed especially for you. Don't you like it?" She asked, her voice a little hurt as she reached to touch him lightly on his shoulder. He stepped away quickly and moved to his chair to retrieve his coat. _A tuxedo_ , he thought. _First the hat, then sheets, then a tie, and those trinkets for his dresser now a tuxedo._ It was bad enough she constantly brought him food to the station, basket brimming with delicacies, as if he could not afford to buy himself a decent meal. He shook his hand and hung his coat in the armoire. She stood where he left her, clutching the jacket to her chest.

"I thought you would enjoy something new." She replied, voice even and controlled.

“I can buy my own damned suit, excuse me, tuxedo. You don't have to keep buying me things." Why am I so angry he thought again. "I'm not a welfare case for you to take on and better, then show off from your friends." He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. Why did he say that? He was just so damned tired. "Phryne," he started to say before she cut him off with a sharp movement, placing the jacket back on the box.

"I never said you were, Jack. I care about you and thought you would enjoy a new suit for the gala instead of wearing the one you always do when we go out." She turned her back to him and moved to the chair, and began to dress. "I don't mean to imply."

"You never mean to imply." He replied angrily, frustrated with his feelings, frustrated with the words that would not come out of his mouth in lieu of what did. I'm sorry. I am not myself tonight. Thank you. I love-- “I've told you that you do not have to buy me anything. I have dressed myself, fed myself, for long before you forced your way into my life."

"Forced myself?" She scoffed. "You were floundering before me." Oh, Jack, she thought, as she saw his posture stiffen. "I only meant that--"

"I know what you meant." He moved to grab a pair of pajamas from a drawer. "I know you mean well but have you ever thought about how it makes me feel? How inadequate I feel when you grab the cheque at the restaurant before I can or when I return home with cupboards full and a new pair of silk sheets on my bed." He signed and rubbed his face with his hands. "Phryne. I am not of your world, no matter how you try to force me into it. I am canned beans on toast. Of wool and tweed. Of dirt under my nails and my shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow."

"I don't care about that, Jack. I care about you, of making you happy. I don't want to change you. I love you for who you are, not where you come from. Don't forget, I'm a Collingswood girl beneath this finery."

"But you are not a Collingswood girl now. You are the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher with the big house in St. Kilda. I am Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, with an ex-wife and a one-bedroom flat." He sighed, the forgotten weight returning to claim his heart. "How can I make you, of all women, happy? A woman who drinks French champagne by the ton and who has clothes designed for her lover. I will not be a kept man, Phryne, to dress the way you want me to dress, eat the way you want me to eat, attend the soirees you want me to attend."

"Is that what you think of me? Of how I think of you?" She was dressed now, eyes flashing with anger, pain, and tears. "You mean more to me than that. I am not some flighty society lady flitting about your life, playing with you until I grow tired of you and toss you aside like an out-of-style dress." Her voice lowered with her next words. "I am in love with you, for god’s sake." She raised her hand to her lips, surprised at her words. "I have not uttered those words to a man in 15 years. I do not say them lightly and I will not say them again. If you were another toy for me to play with do you think I would come to you like this, to sleep beside you instead of in my home where I can come and go and ask you to leave when I was done with you? No, Jack, you are more to me than that. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I am nothing more to you than a woman to bury your cock into after a long day." She turned her back to him and walked out of the room.

"Phryne, wait." She paused at the front door to unlock it.

"No. It is late like you said and I have an early morning of dress fittings and engagements, and possibly a silly crime or two to solve. Goodbye, Jack." Her words were cold and final.

"Please, wait." But she was out the door, shutting it gently behind her.

He deserved more. Of raised voices and screams, of slammed doors and slaps across the face. Not the finality of goodbye, Jack. He thought about going after her but heard the rumble of her car's engine and knew it was too late. Walking automatically back to his bedroom he sat in his chair and picked up the glass he left there. Finishing it in a swallow, he turned it in his hand then threw it across the room, the glass shattering against the wall. He should clean it up, he thought but sat, his hands in his face, elbows on his knees. Her scent grew stronger and he looked up, hopeful that she had returned. No. She was gone but her black cloche hat remained. He picked it up off the flow where it had fallen and brought it to his nose, burring his face in the felt. And for the first time in years, cried.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne returns home and Dot visits the station.
> 
> A huge THANK YOU to Kelly for your help editing. You rock!

“That man,” Phryne fumed as she slammed into her house at 2:00 in the morning. “That infuriating man!” She tossed her keys in the glass bowl on the hall table, throwing her handbag beside it. It fell with a thunk.

“Is everything alright, miss?” Mr. Butler asked. Phryne turned, startled to see Mr. Butler standing in the hallway, his worn robe cinched tightly at his waist.

“Nothing a stiff drink cannot fix, Mr. B!” Phryne replied more jovially than she felt.

“Yes, Miss.” He moved towards the parlor.

“It’s alright, Mr. B. I can get my own drink. Go back to bed. I am sorry I woke you.” He nodded and turned back towards his room.

“Ah, Miss. The Inspector?” He inquired.

“Will not be coming by tonight. I decided it was better for me to return home, alone.”

“Yes, Miss. Goodnight, Miss.” Mr. Butler left Phryne alone in the hall. She leaned her head on the doorframe as she learned from Beatrice Mason so long ago. She took a deep breath and moved to the parlor and poured herself two fingers of whiskey. She tossed it back and poured herself another three.

What was she thinking, declaring her love for Jack, out loud? She loved men but being in love was a different thing all together. They had never said those words to each other, not like that—only waltzed around their feelings, saying it with looks, touches, I love it when you. The words had never been needed. They were too powerful, too important, too terrifying. She took another sip and flung herself on the couch. He would come knocking at her door any moment. She shook her head. No, he wouldn’t.

She knew he was exhausted. She could see it in the circles under his eyes, in the tension in his shoulders, in the roughness of his voice during the short snippets of conversations they had over the past few weeks. The strike at the dock had turned violent a month ago and showed no signs of stopping. Jack begged her not to get involved. Phryne had originally been called in by the captain of one of the ships in port. After Phryne herself was attacked, and her Hispano Suiza defaced, Ces and Bert sat her down with backup from Dot and Mr. Butler to beg her to stop. Mac asked her to take a step away as she wrapped Phryne’s bruised ribs from the attack. Jack was right. She hadn’t admitted that to him and he deserved to hear it. There were too many players, too many fists, and this was beyond what even she could handle. This wasn’t like one of their typical murder investigations.

It was mass hysteria coupled with rage, anger and the loss of wages. Families were starving, people were dying and she was powerless to help, on her own. She had not felt this hopeless since the war.

Phryne tried to support him with generous hampers of food for him, Collins, and the rest of the station. She had Ces and Bert or Dot deliver them with news from the ports. Her team passed any pertinent information she or they uncovered to the police. But she had been too busy to see what Jack needed. Instead of gifts, trinkets and hampers of food (well...he would always need those), she needed to reclaim her partner. To do what they did best. Of course he was angry, tired and miserable. On top of his exhausting, frustrating days inside the station and down at the docks, he was worried about her.

If Phryne wanted to help, she realized she had to let Jack lead this one and step in with her impeccable assistance. She needed to be in his presence, going over the files with him, instead of stubbornly trying to strong-arm her way through the picket lines. The police force was strained to the limit, but Phryne could back-channel and be his inside man or woman, she mused, in this case. Constables were brought out in force to stop the riots but they could barely handle the anger and brutality on the streets surrounding the harbor. Jack was stretched thin, manpower split between the strike and the day-to-day crime of the city. He needed her. They needed each other.

She finished her glass and considered another, rubbing the crystal against her forehead. Her skin itched with need for Jack, but she would have to wait. She needed to let him squirm a little. She had told him she was in love with him, after all. His response to her declaration was infuriating, but she understood stubbornness and pride. She needed a little time to work out her plan.

Mr. Butler found her a few hours later and covered her with a throw. She was deeply asleep on the couch and he did not want to wake her. He took her empty glass and decanter shut the doors of the parlor and left her alone.

* * * * *

“It may be best, Dot, if you took the hamper to the station today. I don’t believe Miss will be up to it.” Mr. Butler commented to Dot as he packed a large wicker basket with bread, cheese, biscuits, and other items as she entered the room.

“Isn’t she with the inspector?” Dot asked, pouring a cup of tea.

“No, my dear. She came in late last night, alone. She seemed upset. Perhaps he stayed at the station last night. Why don’t you find out from Hugh if that was correct?”

“I hope she and the Inspector did not have an argument.” She took a sip of tea then buttered a scone.

“We can only hope. I’ll have Cec and Bert drive you this morning. I have some errands for them to run.”

* * * * *

When Dot entered the station Hugh was on the telephone writing furiously on a pad. He nodded a hello as Dot stood with her back to the wall as people came and left. Dot peaked through Jack’s open door and caught a glimpse of him, face drawn and white, eyes red, bent over paperwork. When the room cleared slightly, Dot made her way to the counter.

“Oh, Dottie. Am I glad to see you.” Hugh touched her hand lightly as he opened the hamper. “Scones!” He called out. “Inspector.” He called to Jack. “Dot is here.” Jack looked up sharply, a glimmer in his eye that dimmed when he saw Dot was alone. He waved them away and turned back to his paperwork. Hugh gave Dot a look and leaned his head toward her. “He’s been like that all morning. His temper has been quicker than normal and he looks as if he didn’t sleep last night. Didn’t he and Miss Fisher have a date last night?” He asked in a low tone.

“Mr. Butler said she came in late last night, alone and upset.”

“He left about midnight. I left soon after.” Hugh replied. Dot moved to the railing that lead to the back of the station.

“Inspector, I have a thermos of tea and those scones you like. I even have clotted cream and jam. You look exhausted. Please have a cuppa at least.” Jack sighed and rose to join them. She poured him a cup, noticing how pale he looked. “I’m sorry you and Miss Fisher were not able to spend some time together last night. I know you two were looking forward to it.” Jack’s hand trembled slightly.

“Ah, I assume she is well.” Jack stammered.

“She was still asleep when I left the house.” Jack nodded, raised his cup in thanks, and then returned to his office, shutting the door behind him. Dot turned to Hugh.

“Keep an eye on him, Hugh. And be careful yourself. I don’t want you getting hurt.” She rose on her toes to kiss him quickly on the cheek before leaving. She flushed slightly when Hugh brushed her lips with his.

“Yes, Dottie. Here is the basket from yesterday. I’ll try to drop this one off tonight as to not get on Mr. Butler’s bad side.” Hugh walked her to the door of the station. Dot gave a worried glance at Jack’s closed door and hurried off to report back to Mr. Butler.

**Author's Note:**

> * Pride and Prejudice (2005) Movie. These words are taken from the movie, not the book, but let’s pretend they are from the book because it is such a fantastic line. 
> 
> ** She Walks in Beauty, by Lord Byron


End file.
